


The Judgement Day Affair

by mrua7



Series: Strange, scary stories and the Man from U.N.C.L.E. [54]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: End of the World, Gen, Spies & Secret Agents, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 22:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16396649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon awakes to find he's lost years off his life and the apocalypse has finally happened.





	The Judgement Day Affair

When Napoleon Solo woke, it felt as if he’d been awake and now he was dreaming.

“Did that make sense? This is a dream,” he told himself. There were strange images going through his head, all blood and guts, end of the world. He put it off as to being a nightmare, but wait this was a dream.

He finally crawled from his bed when nature demanded he pay heed, telling him his bladder was going to burst if he didn’t take care of business.

Glancing up at the mirror on the wall above the toilet, he saw his face...well what he could see of it.

“What the...?”

He had a beard, not just a few day’s growth but a full dark beard that was nearly down to his chest.He looked like one of the Smith brothers from the cough drop boxes.

As he walked around in bewilderment, Napoleon found his furniture and belongings were covered with a thick layer of dust. Everything in his apartment was a complete a mess.

There were stacks of canned goods, and large water cooler bottles filled with water, to go with the water cooler he found standing in his kitchen.

There were multiple locks and deadbolts on his door.

“What the hell?”  He walked around barefoot, in a bit of a daze. “This _has_ to be a dream.”

Napoleon pinched his arm, and let out a loud ‘ow,’ as it hurt. Guess it wasn’t a dream after all.

Where was his communicator, and for that matter where was his telephone?  He searched the apartment without success.

What he did find was a large pile of newspapers stacked beside his now well worn sofa...but it was new, he’d just gotten it?

None of this made sense...

 

Napoleon picked up the top newspaper and looked at the date.

**‘November 31st, 1966’**

“What?”

It had to be a joke. Illya was pulling some sort of joke. It wasn’t 1966! Just for the heck of it, he read the headline aloud.

 

**“DOOMSDAY VIRUS DESTROYING MANKIND”**

 

‘Judgement day has arrived…’

Other than thinking this being a sick joke, part of his mind went straight to the thought that T.H.R.U.S.H. had finally done it. Yet if mankind was inundated, who did that leave for them to dominate? World domination, that was their goal, not a real estate deal. They needed people to control and over whom they could laud their presumed superiority.

Then again maybe this virus thing wasn’t caused by them, if it were even real. His mind drifted back to this being a very sick prank...Illya? Would he do something this cruel?

Yes, could be pretty cold hearted at times, but this?

Napoleon began to read the article, and images... memories flashed through his head.  He saw bodies everywhere, people screaming, crying. Many committed suicide rather than suffering.

The virus was a wasting disease, and once infected the victim would be dead within a week. How it was transmitted, no one knew. All the best scientists had already succumbed and there was no one left to research and find a cure.

There were people who were apparently immune but very few and since there was no one capable of finding out why they were immune, it was a moot point.

The article advised the general public to just be with their loved ones and prepare for the end.

“This can’t be,” he mumbled. Giving his beard a tug; he figured that his wise ass partner of his had glued it on.

He realized it wasn’t fake. Yet the images, the same memories flashed in his head. Death everywhere. Was it real, was this all for real?

Napoleon went to his bedroom and dug out some clothing, and once dressed he stopped to look under his pillow.  There it was, his trusty Special. It looked fine, and he checked the magazine, finding it full with nine rounds and one in the chamber. There were two extra magazines beside it.

He couldn’t locate his shoulder holster and decided to keep his gun in his hand as he readied to exit. The extra mags he stuffed into his pockets. He had to go downstairs to Illya’s apartment.

Something, a niggling feeling told him not to look out a window, and he listened to it for now.

By his door was a key ring with a fair number of keys on it. Punching the code into the keypad for his alarm, there was nothing. It seemed to be dead.

Napoleon tried the wall switch, and that didn’t work either. No electricity?  He’d check on that later, first things first and that was to find Illya.

After locking the door behind himself Napoleon headed down the stairs with caution.  He made it to his partner’s apartment door and knocked his special code.

No answer.  

After looking on the key ring he found the right one for the door and unlocked it.

The apartment was completely dark, with the curtains drawn. It smelled dusty and there was another odor, like the one he’d smelled long ago in the Cairo museum in Egypt. *

“Illya?” He crept forward, moving toward the bedroom.

Napoleon couldn’t see a thing, there was no sound. He headed for the window and threw back the curtains, before turning to the bed.

He gasped at what he saw. It was the mummified remains of a man, though he couldn’t tell if it was Illya or not. What he could see was a bullet hole in the right temple.

Carefully reaching beneath the bed pillows, he found no sign of Kuryakin’s gun. Illya was never without it...so who was this, if it wasn’t his partner?”

Walking around the apartment, there was no stockpile of food and water, no papers, and none of Illya’s books and journals were in the bookcase. It was empty.

There was an ashtray full of burned out cigarettes and Napoleon picked up one, but it disintegrated in his fingers.

Bending over and looking at the rest, he could make out that most had filters. Illya smoked Lucky Strikes, but then again if the world was ending someone just might smoke about anything.

He decided the body just couldn’t be that of Kuryakin.

Napoleon knocked on the doors of every apartment in his building, but no one answered. He wasn’t about to search them and decided to go back to his place to clean up.

Once in the bathroom he tested the shower and found it working, though the water was a bit rusty looking, which explained the bottled water. The water was ice cold as well, probably no gas to heat it.

After quickly bathing Napoleon found a pair of scissors, cut back the beard, shaved and trimmed his hair as best he could.

What he saw in the mirror after it was all done, was a gaunt pale face, with dark circles under his eyes.

There were streaks of grey on his temples…No, dammit, he was thirty two, and this was 1963. He hadn’t lost three years of his life, no way!

His stomach rumbled, telling him it was time to eat something.  Since there was no power, and no gas either, he opted to open a can of Campbell’s pork and beans. It would have to do.

While eating from the can with a spoon, he finally peeked out his living room window. Everything was empty, abandoned cars with smashed windows and rusting metal  lined either side of the street.

The sidewalks and parts of the road were overgrown with weeds, and Napoleon shook his head in disbelief.

Was he the last man left in New York? That was a question to which he’d have to find the answer.

He pulled a coat from the hall closet, and put his gun in the right hand pocket, with the extra magazines in the left.  After locking up, he headed out; his destination, headquarters. He hoped it was still there.

As he reached the sidewalk, he saw his silver convertible parked right where it always was. The car was immaculate, showing now signs of damage. That he found strange when so many other vehicles were nothing but wrecks. The block looked like it was part of a ghost town.

Dare he call out? Napoleon shrugged and figured why not.

“Helloooooo!”

The only answer he got was an echo.

Overhead he heard the cawing of crows, and he shaded his eyes, straining to try and see them, but they were already gone.

He found his keys in the ignition, also odd as he never left them there in the past. The past...it seemed like only yesterday he was on assignment with Illya.

The keys being left; did that mean there was no one around left to steal?

The car started up and purred like a kitten. Napoleon took off down the road, being cautious as he zig zagged around the wrecks and debris that were everywhere. No signs of bodies anywhere. Was it close to that date on the newspaper, or much later than that?

How long had he been asleep?  

“No, this isn’t real!” Napoleon shouted, pounding his fist on the dash, trying to convince himself.

Since there was no traffic, he reached Del Floria’s in a surprisingly short time. Parking the car out front, he slowly walked down the steps finding the entrance wide open. As he closed the door behind himself there was no brass bell  ringing its welcome.

Solo drew his gun as a precaution, but after looking around inside he found the interior dusty, disheveled and apparently abandoned.

His heart sank, thinking everyone was really gone.

Stepping into the dressing room; he turned the coat hook hoping against hope and thankfully the door to headquarters slowly swung open. There were lights on inside.

As he peeked, he finally found another living human being who instantly drew a gun on him.

“Whoa! Hold on there! George, it’s me, Napoleon Solo.”

The man blinked several times. “Napoleon? Golly...wow. I thought you were dead!”

“Not as far as I know. Who’s left...more specifically where’s Illya?”

“Gee, let’s see there’s Lisa Rogers, Wanda…”

“George, not a list. Now about Illya?”

“Mr. Kuryakin? He’s alive yes, though he looks like the walking dead. We’ve been spending day and night in the labs trying to find out what happened, actually I’ve been doing most of the work.”

“Oh is that so George? I didn’t know you were into that sort of scientific stuff.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Napoleon. Things have changed around here since you’ve been gone. Well I’ve…”

“Thanks George, we’ll catch up later,” Napoleon headed towards the secondary entrance doors, when he realized they were already open. “Wait, do I need a badge?”

“No. They were done away with them; you’re the first person to walk in here since the last days of, well you know, right?”

“I do but I don’t George. What about Mr. Waverly?”

“He didn’t make it, along with a lot of other people.”

“Oh no,” Solo bit his lip, pausing for a moment out of respect.

“Napoleon I’m glad you’re alive. Illya sort of gave up. You never came back to headquarters and since no one was allowed on the streets...well Security wouldn’t let him go look for you once Mr. Waverly ordered the lockdown. People were acting like animals at the end, turning on anyone who looked healthy.”

“Why?”

“Maybe because they were dying; they wanted nobody else to live either.”

Napoleon cringed at that. “Well it’s good to be alive George. I’m heading down to the labs...oh elevators working?”

“Sorry no. All non-essential systems were shutdown to conserve power. We’ve been running on generators like...forever, or at least it feels like it. Still it’s been getting harder to get gasoline to run them. You know since they need electric to run gas pumps. It’s a little hard to siphon gas at times and of course it has to be done in the daylight hours. I’ve been working on an alternative fuel source...say how about I come with you? I’d love to see Kuryakin’s face when he sees you’re alive. Would you believe I’ve been helping him in the labs.”

“Oh God George will you just tell me...wait, don’t tell me there’s zombies or something like creeping around out there?”

“Well, something like that. We call them the skulkies.”

“You’re kidding.”

“They’re people who survived but the last of the scientists tried experimenting on many of them to find out why they didn’t die. They tried infecting them and gave them chemical compounds to kill the disease so they could make some sort of vaccine.  Well, they ended up developing side effects like sensitivity to light, mainly sun. They also seemed to be able to reproduce faster and their children have the same afflictions, as well as a high rate of metabolism. The age faster, and die once they’ve reproduced.They’ll die out eventually, I guess. When the last of the world’s greatest scientists succumbed to the disease, there was no one left to help them. They were nicknamed the ‘skulkies’ because all they do is skulk around at night.”

“And why do they skulk?”

“Because they skulk about, trying to find food, as in people like you who might get caught out after dark. They’ve become more like animals than human beings. We’ve heard the skulkies will turn on each other too, even eating their young. There are some ‘wellies’ out there still, but maybe not many.”

“Cannibalism?” Napoleon shivered upon hearing that. “Wellies? Don’t tell me, people who never became infected right?”

“Exactly. It seems the skulkies have a strange belief that if they eat enough people who aren’t infected, then they might be cured and be able to walk in the sun again. That’s ridiculous of course.”

“George, I think I’ve heard enough. I’m heading to the labs.”

 

“Hey wait for me.” Dennel headed right after him.

“Who’ll mind the store?” Napoleon pointed to the agent entrance door with his thumb.

“Oh that. I’ll just lock up. Security can keep an eye out with the cameras, not that there’s anyone around as it’s daylight. It’s only when it’s dark that we need to keep watch. There’s been more of the skulkies showing up lately. They might be running out of food. Gee, that’s an awful thought isn’t it?”

Since we’re still on lockdown, no one except other UNCLE locations around the world know we’re here...not that there’s many left. They’re on lockdown too, but there hasn’t been much communication lately. They could be dying out for all I know.”

“George, this thing is worldwide, not just New York?”

“Gee Napoleon where exactly have you been? It was a global pandemic. Mankind was nearly wiped out except for little pockets like us here…”

Napoleon had no answer to that. Where he’d been, he had no idea.

It seemed strange; the once busy corridors of headquarters were empty. Not a soul to be seen.

George never did give him the number of survivors hed asked for and Napoleon decided not to ask again as the man as he tagged along with him.

It was obvious Dennell had more important things to think about.

They headed to the stairwell and down to the lower level where the labs were located. The stairs were very dimly lit with only a few overhead lights working.

Together they entered the lobby of the Science Section and went to the lab where they could see a light.

These were manual glass doors, but would automatically seal if in the event of some sort of mishap.

George led the way now, opening the door, with Solo right behind him.  There Napoleon spotted a familiar blond head, and sighed his relief.

Illya was leaning forward, sitting on a stool. He head was resting on his crossed arms, lying on a workbench. It was obvious he was asleep.

“Sleeping on the job again Kuryakin?” George raised his voice.

“Must have dozed off,” Illya sat up with a start. He turned his head to see who it was and practically leapt from the stool when he realized it was Dennell, and standing right beside him was his partner.

“Ahem,” Napoleon cleared his throat.

“Napoleon!” He sobbed while grabbing the American in a hug, that Solo returned.

He wasn’t quite accustomed to his Russian friend being this melodramatic. He held onto Illya while the man practically cried like a baby.

When Illya finally released his grip and stepped back, Napoleon got a good look at him.

He was very gaunt. The extreme paleness of his skin accentuated the dark circles under his eyes. He was unshaven, with a few days beard growth that showed streaks of grey in it. He was disheveled and looked as though he’d slept in his clothes for quite some time.

“I thought you were dead,” Illya moaned with raw emotion in his voice. “You never came back, or answered your communicator and the phone lines were dead. Waverly banned everyone from going outside for fear of bringing the disease into headquarters. If he only knew that was not the case...he is dead Napoleon. Nearly everyone in headquarters; there is only a handful of us left. Where were you? What happened to you? You disappeared just before the outbreak.”

“Good question. I woke up this morning in my own bed, with my apartment looking like it had been stocked up for the end of the world. From what I understand that’s pretty much what’s happened.”

“You remember nothing prior to this morning?”

“That’s an affirmative.”

“I am sorry I did not come look for you again my friend.”

“Tovarisch, don’t worry about it. I’m fine as far as I can tell, and I’m here now, so how can I help?”

“Not much you can do…” Illya’s hand went to his head and a second later he would have dropped to the floor had George not caught him.

When Kuryakin awoke he was in bed, upstairs in Medical to be precise. George had carried him there, with Napoleon’s help.

Dr. Greene and several of the nurses were alive and that was a happy sight for Solo, and for them as well, but it was a brief reunion.  There was a patient to look over, though Dennell was already taking Kuryakin’s blood pressure.

After a quick examination Illya was declared fine other than being dehydrated and sleep deprived. He could use a few extra pounds on his skinny hide too, but with food rationing it was a bit tough on a Russian with a bottomless pit for a stomach.

His baby blues finally opened.

“Hi there partner.”

“Napoleon? What happened? I was so happy to see you and then, I wake up here.”

“Seems you’ve been a bad boy and haven’t been taking care of yourself. You’re sort of confined to Medical for a few days until you’ve gotten some decent sleep, and oh you’re on an IV as you’re dehydrated. The good doctor has ordered extra rations for you too.”

“No, I have to get back to work. I am close, I can feel it!”

“Close to what Tovarisch?”

“A cure you blockhead, what do you think I have been working on all this time while you just disappeared! Were you off with some woman?”

“Excuse me?” Dennell responded. “You mean we’ve been working on it, well mostly me.”

“Yes George, pardon me. You have been working on the cure,” Illya bowed his head.

“Oh right back to your old cheerful self I see,”Napoleon quipped, he wasn’t sure how to address the ‘George’ comment and decided not to.

“Tovarisch, you know me so well... that’s what I’ve been doing. Out wining, dining and dancing the time away,” he said sarcastically.

“Of course you would not or could not be doing that. What was I thinking?”

‘Illya when was the last time you were outside? Haven’t you seen what it’s like?” Napoleon asked.

“Yes in the beginning, then as things went from bad to worse Waverly confined us to headquarters. That was October of 1966. We have been locked down since then except for the few forays at night to procure test specimens, and sometimes in the day for supplies...but not me. I have remained behind...I, I could not bring myself to go out there.”

“So when you _were_ out there, why didn’t come look for me?”

“I did. You were not in your apartment, nor any of your other usual haunts. Waverly insisted I return as headquarters was going to be put on locked down and sealed under quarantine. I knew I had to get to the labs, I am sorry; I had to make a choice and it was for the greater good.”

“And never since then?”

“No, I am sorry my friend. I thought you were dead.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Illya I found a well...mummified body in your bed, in your apartment.”

“Yes, that was Agent Forrest. He had accompanied me when I was looking for you but fell ill. He could not come back to headquarters; Waverly forbade it.  Forrest asked me to end it for him and I…”

There was a sound out in the corridor, making Napoleon’s ears perk up. Was that the sound of a baby crying?”

“Hi there,” A very pregnant Nurse Kelly stepped into the room holding a little pink bundle of joy wrapped in a pink blanket. She was maybe five months old.“Somebody wants to see her daddy.”

“Daddy?” Napoleon said.” Wait...me? What am I thinking, I haven’t been here.” He looked to George with a frown.

“No silly, Illya,” she smiled.”Napoleon may I introduce Illya’s number two daughter Irina, her sister Magda is asleep down the hall in the nursery. We have over a three dozen children here now.” She was beaming.” The nursery is just down the hall where the Psych Department used to be.”  
  
“Kuryakin you dirty dog.” Solo grinned.

“And this is baby number three...a boy by the way,” Maggie Kelly rubbed her belly.”

Solo’s jaw dropped, doing the math in his head as looked at the infant that couldn’t be any more than four weeks old. “Wait a minute, Illya you have three children with more than one woman?”  
  
Kuryakin held up four fingers, with a sly smile. “You forgot about Anastasiya...Maggie.”

“Oh yes. Sorry I forgot. Heather is her mother, Lisa Rogers is Irina’s mommy and Magda is mine, and the latest Kuryakin is due in a week or so.” She rubbed her belly again.

“For the continuation of the species mind you,” Illya said. “George has me beat though with eight; six boys and two girls. The girls were born last week and are twins. We all drew lots here at headquarters, though participation was not mandatory. No one was forced.”

“Of course,”Napoleon finally grinned. “Wow, is there anyone left for me?”

“Actually,” George chimed in,” the ratio is three women to one man and there’s well... there’s plenty more gorgeous ladies left who’ll be more than willing once they find out the great Napoleon Solo has returned from the dead. It’s not like we’re all monogamous.”

“I’m flattered, I think,” Napoleon cringed.

“Actually,” George said,”The women here were pretty picky at first. They all wanted me. Illya, Mark Slate and the other Section II’s and the guys from Security; the girls finally warmed up to them.” He seemed quite proud of himself.

“And how many children has Mark fathered?” Napoleon asked.

“Oy mate, I’m a bit behind these two studs, only two lads myself,” he slapped Napoleon on the back and shook his hand. “I heard the news and came straightaway. This is really uplifting guv, knowing you’ve survived.”

“Just exactly how long have I been missing?”Solo asked.

“Five hundred-sixty five days...that is one year, six months and twenty-two days.”

Napoleon flopped back into the chair beside his partner’s bed. “Whoa. What’s the year?”

“It is 1968.”

Solo shook his head in disbelief. What happened to him. The last year he remembered was 1963. No wonder he had grey hairs.

He looked up at Mark, almost afraid to ask.

”Where’s April?”

“She’s alive if you want to call it that mate, but not good I’m afraid. You been told about the skulkies?”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry my friend, she is one of them,” Illya answered for the Brit who was obviously becoming emotional.

“April comes to headquarters in the dark, often looking for Mark, and you. She walks into into Del Floria’s pulling at the coat hook and stays until it is nearly dawn. She walks around moaning your names.”

“My God, can’t you bring her in, try to find that cure for her?”

Dr. Green finally chimed in.” Napoleon none of our test subjects have survived as of yet.”

“Oh...”

“Now while I have you here, I need to take a blood sample for the research. Perhaps the antibodies in it might give us another clue to this puzzle.”

“Napoleon, “Illya said,”I think since you are technically CCO, that you should be in charge.”

“Now wait a minute Kuryakin...Illya,” George barked. “No Johnny come lately is going to waltz in here and take over. I don’t care who it is. I’m the one in charge. If it weren’t for me, you’d all be dead. I’ve instituted the changes that have kept us alive all this time. I developed energy saving policies, I developed the hydroponic gardening system so we have fresh vegetables to eat. And I’ve been instrumental in helping you find a cure for the skulkies and a vaccine for the disease that’s nearly wiped out mankind, not you.”

“Be careful George, you are sounding a bit egotistical,” Illya warned.

“If you weren’t laid up in bed, I’d clock you one. Now you take that back.” George jabbed his finger into Illya’s chest.

“No, I will not.”

George stormed out the door, his yelling made little Irina begin to cry.

“Give her to me Maggie,” Illya said. “I can hold her for a while, maybe Magda is awake and she can meet her Uncle Napoleon?”

“It’s about time, my back is killing me.” She handed the child over to her father, and walked out the door without a word.

“Illya, what’s going on here? George Dennell is in charge? Why aren’t you? You were next in line after me, so when Mr. Waverly died you should…”

“I know my friend, but George has stepped up to the plate and has really been the savior of us all. He is correct, we would all have been dead without him. Now look at my little Irina, is she not beautiful? She has my eyes.” Kuryakin fluttered his eyelashes.

Napoleon screwed up his face; the only suddenly thing on his mind was getting together with some of the remaining ladies of U.N.C.L.E. and it wasn’t about making babies, though if that happened he didn’t have to worry about it for once…

 

*****

George Dennell sat on the edge of Napoleon Solo’s desk holding a manuscript in his hands, reading aloud from it.

Kuryakin was sitting in his desk chair, resting his chin in his hand as he leaned on his elbow. Periodically, when George wasn’t looking, he’d roll his eyes and look over at Napoleon who was sitting there with his fingers laced together.

They were both listening to Dennell ramble on.

“So guys what do you think of my story so far? Great little bit of science fiction so far, isn’t it?  Of course if I can get it published, I’ll change your names...I suppose I’d have to change the name of U.N.C.L.E. too. I can do that once it’s finished and I start to polish it up.”

“And what prompted this flight of fancy in writing,” Illya asked.

“Oh I took a night class in creative writing over at NYU.

There’s so many great ideas I can use from our archives, again of course changing names and a few other details.

I thought making it science-fictiony would deflect any ideas a reader might get about the organization being real.”

“Hmmmm,” Illya pursed his lips, and looked across again to his partner.

“So guys what’d you think?” He was really excited.”I’m toying around the idea of calling it ‘The Judgement Day Affair.”

“George?”

“Yes Napoleon?”

“Don’t quit your day job, and I wouldn’t breathe a word of this to Mr. Waverly. I think, though changing the name of the organization in your story; you might still actually be in violation of the security agreement you signed when you were hired to work for U.N.C.L.E.”

“Yes,” Illya chimed in.” Mr. Waverly might not take kindly to an employee writing about an organization that sounds suspiciously like the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, and using our top secret files as fodder for his writing.”

“Oh. Okay guys. Gee, thanks...wouldn’t want to upset Mr. Waverly. I know what it’s like when he gets mad at someone. I wouldn’t want to be in his sight, by golly.”

 

George dropped his manuscript in Solo’s trash can.  As he walked towards the door, he hesitated, turning around to speak.

“What if I write about T.H.R.U.S.H…?”

Solo and Kuryakin spoke in unison.

“GEORGE! Out!”

Dennell scrambled through the door as soon as it opened, running with his tail between his legs.

Illya picked the manuscript out of the trash, thumbing through it as his tinted glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose.

“That was a bit of Mary Sue writing if I say so myself tovarisch, wasn’t it?”

“Mary Sue? Who is that, and did she help George write this? You know Napoleon if he places the setting on another planet, and of course puts the Russian in charge...”

“Illya! Put that back in the trash can, now.”

“Fine. What year is it by the way?” He snickered.

“Out!” Solo pulled off a shoe and tossed it at the retreating Russian.

  



End file.
